


All in His Hands

by Flannigan



Category: Hanna Is Not A Boy's Name
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Cutting, Dubious Consent, Implied Sexual Content, In Public, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-22
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2019-03-22 18:04:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13769598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flannigan/pseuds/Flannigan
Summary: Between each time Finas sees Casimiro is a long stretch of months, and he grows more desperate in his absence. He's finally got Casimiro in front of him, and he'll do anything to stay at his side longer.





	All in His Hands

**Author's Note:**

> it-s-blue-ink.tumblr.com

_“Casimiro,”_ Finas sighed his name like a prayer, gripping his hands and bowed his head to kiss his knuckles. Casimiro leaned against the wall, his stomach twisted hard, a grin of teeth climbing up like sweet bile. He was delighted to return to Finas and find him in this state.

“Did you miss me?” he asked as Finas turned over his hands and bared his palms and wrists, kissing them too.

“Stay. Please, stay.” Finas looked up, brows furrowed in something akin to desperation.

”Oh,“ Casimiro cooed and angled his head. "You know I won’t. …Poor thing. Life is better with me around, isn’t it?” Finas’ eyes slid shut as he spoke. “You can do with a reminder, to properly appreciate me.”

“Take me with you then.”

Casimiro raised a brow, well aware of his companion’s disinclination to travel far. His pleading warmed the tatters of his soul.

“Come here,” he murmured, pulled him closer by the front of his worn coat. It had been so long since he’d tasted his lips. One of his favourites, if not the favourite. Finas pressed close against him, melded into his shadows, moaned his name low in his chest. 

They were across the narrow street of the backdoor of a pub. Finas’ hunting grounds, until Casimiro hunted him down. It was a challenge to make the englishman do anything outside his moral and social code, when he was stable. Now he touched a foreigner like a whore in public. Hands pawed at his jacket and slid around his waist, over his hips and thighs, like he wanted every part of him at once. Casimiro grinned wide with a chuckle, Finas’ lips pressing into the hollow of his throat.

“Bring me with you. Anything…”

“Anything?” Warmth coiled in the pit of his stomach, fogged up his mind and senses and made him disoriented. He was glad for the wall at his back and the force Finas held him against it with.

“I’m yours to command,” Finas promised with fervour. Casimiro turned his face to the foggy sky with a long sigh as Finas said he was his again and again, teeth nipping at his neck.

“If I asked you to kill for me, you’d do it?”

“I already have, many times.”

“Right.” Casimiro slid his hands down his sides, slipped a hand into his own pocket and grasped the straight razor he kept there. He pushed Finas back just enough with a hand on his shoulder, flicked the razor up with a twist of his wrist, held it for Finas to see.

“Will you bleed for me?”

“As much you need,” Finas rasped with a breathless voice. He slowly put the edge to Finas’ pale cheek, he set his jaw and shifted against it, sliced open his skin, all the while holding his gaze intently.

Casimiro’s smile faltered, and he couldn’t adore this wretched creature before him more intensely than he did this moment. He dropped the razor and smudged the blood over his cheek with his palm.

“Die for me?” he breathed, aching hard and wanting. There was a beat of silence as Finas’ eyes darted over his face.

“Is that what you’re asking of me?”

“I am.” Casimiro drank in the struggle written on his face like the sweetest wine.

The door slammed into the wall and Finas startled. Someone walked out the pub and halted abruptly. Finas winced and tried to turn his bloodied face away, back away from him. Casimiro’s took his jaw and forced him still, refused to let him move or look away. The human stood and stared for a dumb moment before he headed the down the street. Through the closing door they heard singing and a shout of the last round.

“They are nothing. Their regard of you means nothing compared to mine. Pay them no mind,” Casimiro whispered. He could see the objections, the reluctance, and Finas swallowed them.

“Will you bring me with you when you leave this time?”

“It depends,” Casimiro said, and Finas’ eyes slid shut again.

“My death is yours, whenever you wish to claim it,” Finas said muted, “you already have my life, it seems.”

Casimiro felt a shiver build up his spine, trace over his skin like starlight.

“Were you this devoted to the Almighty when you lived?” he whispered and kissed the bleeding cut, tasting his dry, english blood. Thick arms wrapped around his waist and Finas laid himself against him, crushed him into the wall, hips grinding against his leg.

“I can hear you. I can touch you,” Finas said, facing up and pressed his forehead against his, breathing shallow. Casimiro bucked against him, felt him push back. He took a bloody fistful of his hair and turned his head.

“Worshipping is done on your knees, Fin,” he spoke into his ear. Finas swallowed hard and glanced to the closed door. Casimiro’s folded hands behind his neck held his face against his body as he slowly lowered to kneel on the ground. Casimiro grinned at the troubled edge to his shifting hands, the nervous glances to the side.

“Ignore them.”


End file.
